


A Step Backwards (Can Be A Step Forward)

by ffrindyddraig



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Bones is carrying Spocks Katra, Gen, Star Trek (2009) - Freeform, Star Trek III: The Search for Spock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26028310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ffrindyddraig/pseuds/ffrindyddraig
Summary: Kirk doesn't get on the Starfleet shuttle. Instead he meets a different McCoy and Spock.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	A Step Backwards (Can Be A Step Forward)

**Author's Note:**

> This was made due to multiple and very long conversations about the characters of the two timelines, and why we both like the OG Kirk better than the new one. Did I manage to get those ideas across in this fic? Probably not. Did I write this fic almost four months ago and only type it up now? Yes. Is there anyway this could possibly fit with cannon and the rest of the movies working? No. 
> 
> I do know this isn't how katra's work, but if you have read any other of my star treks fics you know I'm kinda obsessed with katra stories. Hmmm, maybe I need to write a Chakotay carrying Tuvok's katra...
> 
> Anyway, enjoy.

She was beautiful.

Probably the only thing to be so made in this town. Hell, maybe the whole goddamned state. All gleaming metal and sleek. She was bursting with majestic power, enough to make a man quiver in his boots before her. She was more than man, awe-inspiring and destined to fly free in that cold, empty black.

Jim Kirk saw himself walking down those state of the art corridors, not as an ensign, eager to kiss boots and following every rule, but as the tamer of the roaring beast. She was more than man, but so would he. He would be her captain.

Except.

He wouldn't be. Not now, not in ten years. They wouldn't give the flagship to him, most likely never even see the inside of it. Only the brightest of the best. Years of following orders. No sir, Yes sir, I could really care less sir. They'll take one look at his rap sheet and send him away. Earth bound. Simple job. No way for him to get into trouble.

But here, in Iowa, he was his own man, not a lackey, brain washed cannon fodder. _Better to rule in Buttfuck, Nowhere than serve in heaven._

Smirking at his own joke, he turned his bike back around. Turned his back on the first dare he ever refused to do, on Pike who only saw his father, and a solider Jim could never be. It didn't make him feel happy, or proud, but it didn't make him feel worse, and he would take that happily.

That's when the world lit up. Blinding white. Only a second, left black spots dancing in front of his eyes, slowly fizzing out, leaving a figure in the middle. Stumbling, ungraceful, landing on their knees in the side of the road dirt. Blending into the darkness that surrounded them.

If Jim was another man, he might of left it be. A drunk, a nobody. Riverside had enough of them, after all, he was one. But the light, that was... odd. Enough to cause Jim to move forward, pushing his bike on the bumpy road. His headlights guided the way. He did not look back at the ship. The curiosity that he could never quite satisfy itched at him, and he speed up his pace.

The man had risen by the time Jim reached him. _Old_ was the first word that came to mind upon seeing him. Too frail to have made it this far by walking, yet a quick scan of the area showed no car. Must have been a transporter. The old ones were not as subtle as the state of the art tech, and could easily send up a flare upon arriving. They were short range, and notoriously dangerous. It told Jim two things : the man had come from nearby, and he had balls. While Jim couldn't respect the former, he could the latter.

 _Tired_ was the second word that came to mind. Even in the poor lighting heavy bags were under his half-crazed eyes. Yet as wild as they were, Jim took no caution as he made the last couple of steps. The man obviously posed no threat. Jim could easily take him down - not that he wanted punching a pensioner on his reputation - and he did not fear.

"Are you OK?" His voice sounded loud, though the night was far from quiet. Animals scurried in the corn, insects buzzed, and behind it all was the rumble of the _U.S.S. Enterprise_ being built. It was always there, at least for Jim, a reminder of his father's sacrifice, and his own failure. Since they had started construction Jim had spent more and more time away from his home town, and yet he always found himself back here.

"What?" The voice was as frail as the body, eyes still not completely focused.

"I asked if you were OK." He raised his voice. It seemed to do the trick. Bewilderment slipped into annoyance, lips turning down and eyebrows raising.

"I'm not deaf, boy."

Normally Jim bristled at being called a child, but the scowl marring the man's features was the most terrifying he had seen in a while, and unlike when the bartenders and goons wanted to start something, Jim really was a boy next to him.

"Sorry." He apologised, quickly, before being struck with a wandering thought of how long it had been since he had last done that. "You're a long way from town."

The confused look reappeared in his eyes, the frown on his face sitting there comfortably, the rest of his face naturally moulding to it like it belonged. "I was going... somewhere."

For all of the Federation's medicine, it was not unheard of for older people to still lose their marbles. Like Old Jeff in town, nearly one hundred and thirty and as batty as a fruitcake. Jim, growing up, had sworn he would never live so long as to end up like that, and from the way he was living he was keeping his promise. Of course, he might be being unfair - old transporters tended to scramble things for a while.

"How about I give you a lift back to town?" Someone would be looking for him.

The man peered at him. "What? You going to give me a piggy back ride?"

Jim snorted. At least the man had a sense of humour. Old Jeff hadn't had one of them. He stuck a thumb behind him. "I have a bike."

The man's eyes turned comically wide. "Are you out of your mind? A man of my age can't ride a bike. Dear God man, I'd have a heart attack!"

Jim rolled his eyes. "It's that or walk."

"I'll walk!" The man declared, stubbornly, crossing his skinny arms over his chest. But Jim was stubborn too. No way was he going to leave an OAP stranded out here. His mom always said he was too kind. For the first time, he was proving her right. He crossed his own arms, mirroring the man's pose.

"It's over fifteen miles. In the _dark_. And the temperature is going to _drop_. Don't make me live the rest of my days thinking I killed an old man."

For a second he showed no inclination that he was going to change his mind. Then, stiffly, he uncrossed his arms. "It is logical to get to town."

It was off. The voice, or the tone, or words, or a mixture of all three. But before Jim could analysis it further the man was already walking towards the bike. "Going to stand there with your thumbs in your ass all day?" he growled back at him, and that was much more expected.

With a shrug - so the guy was a bit mad, people said the same about him - Jim turned and bounded after him, easily catching up. He took the bike helmet off the handle bars where it hung when not in use. He stopped himself from tossing it at the last moment. He could easily see the thing taking the man to the ground. Instead he passed it more carefully than was probably called for.

The man glared at the bike. "Do you know how many people die in motorcycle accidents per year?" He grumbled as he put the helmet on.

Jim smiled sweetly. "No. How many?"

It didn't matter that the helmet covered the man's face, Jim could _hear_ the disapproving scowl on his face. "A damn lot." Jim didn't correct him - it was low because nobody actually owned motorcycles anymore, it was part of the charm which got him to spend most of his money on it.

Jim, grinning, straddled the bike, switching the engine on so it rumbled quietly beneath them. "What's your name? So in case of our fiery death they know what to put on the gravestone."

"How are you going to tell them if we're both dead?" He griped as he slipped on behind him.

Jim sighed, blood out of a stone and he'd be damned if he wasn't enjoying himself. "You're a tricky bastard, you know that?"

"So I've been told." He didn't sound too sure of that. Jim waited, so did the man. Jim, always too impatient to play poker, cracked first.

"I'm Jim. Jim Kirk." He didn't have his head so far up his ass that the irony wasn't lost on him : he had spent his whole life trying to distance himself from that name, and the first time he met someone who didn't connect the dots between his age, George Kirk and the _U.S.S. Kelvin_ and he was disappointed.

"I'm... Bones."

Jim snorted. "That's a dog's name. Any surnames?" His mind flicked back to the girl in the bar. The sexy cadet, Uhura. "Or forenames?"

"No." The man - _Bones_ , as stupid as the name was - sounded confused again. Jim, sensing an end to the questioning, revved the engine.

"Hold on." He warned.

"To _what_?"

"To _me_." He set off without waiting for the complaints that would surely follow, chuckling as Bones instead let out a high pitch squeak, skinny arms encircling his waist as they began to speed down the old Iowan roads. Jim ignored the grumbling yelled into his ear ("young people... damn reckless... goin' be the death of me...") and lost himself in the cold air whipping past his skin. Each side of them the corn turned into a blur, the stars shone above them, and for a moment, with the adrenaline pumping through his blood, he felt alive. He lived for these moments, danger so close he could taste it, but him always in control, able to stop it at any point. If it was not for his passenger - and he was not so gone he had forgotten him - he would have gone even faster, taken the turns even more sharply, and he wouldn't stop. Not until his ass was sore, his arms stiff, and the fuel tank empty.

Too soon Jim was slowing to a stop. Riverside was a small town, the centre one road that had everything one needed on it. City hall, the main shop, the bar he was kicked out of last night, the joint police/fire station. All empty in these early hours of the morning, streetlights leaving the corners of the streets looking sinister.

"Ok gramps, know where you're going from here?"

"I've never been here in my life." The man snapped. "And I'm not a granddaddy - I don't think so, anyway."

Jim sighed, an incredibly stupid idea had been forming in his head on the way here, and after that last comment practically settled in his mind. He just couldn't leave a crazy, old man to wander the streets at night, even those of Riverside.

"I have a couch." He suggested, hoping this would never reach the ears of those around, he would never get his bad boy reputation back. "You can stay on it. And if you remember where you're going tomorrow you can be on the way, if not, I'll drop you off at the police station. I'm sure they'll find someone to collect you."

"I'm not a damn dog."

"With a name like Bones, are you sure?"

Whatever the man's reply was, it was lost to the engine and the wind. It took only a minute, even driving at a much more suitable pace, to weave through the backstreets and get to his flat.

Some places, as time moved on, had been updated. Riverside was not one. It had been spared much of the war, and its population never boomed like many had after. Jim's brown bricked square block apartment building was most likely the same one built three hundred years ago. From the state the place was in, it would not surprise him. But the rent was cheap, and it was better than living in that farm house, so Jim stayed.

Bones shakily got off the bike, leaning against the wall of the place before pulling off his helmet to reveal a face at least three shades paler than when he had gotten on. He only grunted at Jim's cheerful "alright there?". Jim gave him a minute to breath in the cool night air before leading him into the building.

The stairs seemed to pull him out of the motorbike induced flunk, causing the man to start a grumble about how he was too old for this as they shuffled up them. Jim was pretty sure he had never moved this slowly in his life, usually taking the worn, concrete steps two at a time. Finally they reached the top and Jim put his finger print to the lock. The old device took two attempts before it sprung open with a gentle click.

Jim might have been raised in a barn, but he still knew his manners. He stood aside, holding the door open so Bones could slip through first. "Mi casa es tu casa."

The man did not say anything as he looked around the disaster Jim called home. Clothes, spare mechanical parts and belongings were spread over the floor and every available surface. The main area consisted of his living room and kitchen - the latter with a bucket in the middle to catch the dripping water from the leaky roof. One door led to the tiny bedroom, barely space for a double bed and a walk way around it, the other holding a bathroom.

Bones did, however, raise a single eyebrow as he looked around, an image near identical to his mother last time she had visited. Jim quickly looked away. Like then he felt self-conscious, _embarrassed_ , about his lodgings in a way he never did. At least Bones wouldn't be offering him more money to find a better place to stay, or worse, beg him to come back to the farm.

After taking in the place, Bones walked across the room, shutting the toilet door without speaking a word. Jim blinked, before shrugging and moving to the fridge. His nose wrinkled at the smell of out of date produce he had failed to remove, reaching past it to grab a beer. He took a long drag before remembering what to do with guests and pulled another one out.

A couple of long minutes later the man returned from the bathroom. He held Jim's medical kit in one hand. It was better than the average first aid kit, his brother had sent it for his birthday the first time he had failed to be there. He had taken a job off world - not for Starfleet, of course not - and had 'appropriated' it from the state of the art science vessel that had transported him there. It had been a joke - Sam had decided early on, even through his own grief, that Jim's birthdays had to be as fun as possible, and little brothers had no say in it - but it was used far more than even Jim had expected it to be.

"Just wait till you're my age." Bones grumbled as he half fell into the couch, opening the kit beside him. Jim suspected he was the kind of guy who liked to complain, and it didn't really matter what about. Still, Bones looked impressed with his med kit. "Get here."

Slowly Jim complied, putting both bottles of beer on the table before squatting down in front of him. Bones grabbed his face, surprisingly gentle. His hands were soft and steady as he angled his face to the light.

"What did ya do? Loose a fight with a brick wall?"

Jim snorted. "You should have seen the wall."

"I'm sure it will never bare load again." He spoke drily. Swiftly and with ease that spoke of familiarity he loaded a hypo. Either he was a doctor or a junkie.

"I'm a doctor, dammit." He answered when Jim asked. He thought, with the aggression in the man's tone he would purposely jab the hypo into his neck - he would not be the first doctor to do so when treating him - but just like his hands, it was done carefully. The hiss filled the apartment, followed by the release of pain Jim had not even known he was still feeling. Quickly he fixed up Jim's face with the dermal regenerator, going over each injury multiple times to make sure no scarring remained. Only once he was done did he reach over to the beer and take a swig.

"Jesus, what is this stuff?" He grouched, faced twisting up like Jim had poisoned him. He still took another glug. Then he pulled out the medical scanner. Jim had used that far more than the dermal regenerator, and the only electronic device he hadn't taken apart in the flat, far too vital for him to risk not putting it back together right. Jim wore his scrapes and bruises with pride, but it was always better after a fight to know if you need more specialist attention.

"I'm fine now." Jim told him. The man snorted, flicking it on.

"World doesn't revolve around you, kid." He turned the scanner around and ran it over himself.

"You ill or something?" He tried to keep his tone light, but the thought of this strange man he just met dying seemed to affect him more than it should.

"I've got amnesia, remember?"

"But you knew you were a doctor."

"I lied." He spoke with a smirk which only grew wider when he saw Jim's jaw drop.

"You _lied_?"

"I knew how to fix you. Hell, I've got enough medical knowledge rattling around my head I'll be surprised if I'm not."

"That's still lying."

"Anyone told you you whine too much?" He shot back, eyes glittering. Old bastard was enjoying himself far too much. "Now shush it, I'm trying to work."

Jim, sulkily, stood up from his squat, taking his beer with him as he settled on a pile of old clothes by the wall. He had never needed more than a couch before, any girl he brought home he made clear they were to be gone before breakfast. His sulking was short lived, however. His curiosity won out. "So, Doc, you gonna live?"

"Worse than that - can't find a damn thing wrong with me." He growled. "Nothing to explain the amnesia at all. Course, might just need a better scanner."

"A hospital?" Jim suggested, the closest one was a couple of towns over, but it was only a couple of hours. Not that Bones would go on his bike. Not that Bones was going to be staying with him for a long time. Bones' - _Doctor Bones_ he thought with a smirk he didn't even try to hide - face turned thunderous.

"And let a bunch of quacks take over my care?"

"I did hear doctors make the worse patients..."

"That's only because most people haven't met a Vulcan." Bones grinned as he said it, and Jim decided it was most likely a medical joke he didn't understand. Efficiently the kit was packed up. Bones went to move it, but Jim quickly swooped it up. The man nodded approvingly.

"That's what I like to see : a boy with good manners."

Jim scowled. "I just didn't want to hear you complain about your back."

"And smart too. Your momma must be proud."

Jim was glad he was facing away. His cheeks flared with embarrassment at the snide remark. Who would be proud of a man who lived like this? His throat burned, and he wondered why this time a comment like that got to him. Why did it seem to matter so much to him what this loony old man thought? (He ignored the voice in his head telling him if Bones had dared him to join Starfleet he would already be in San Francisco by now.)

He took longer than he needed to put the med kit back, and by the time he'd returned, Bones was already asleep.

*

Jim woke with a heavy sense of disappointment in his stomach.

This was not unusual for him. He was, after all, a genius, the son of George Kirk : hero of Earth. He was meant to be something, do something. He had the opportunities, and he blew everyone.

Just like he had Pike's. Starfleet wouldn't let him in, not with his rap sheet and GDE, but Pike would have looked past that. But - and wasn't this what he couldn't stand, why he ignored the dare? - not because he was _Jim_ , but because he was _Kirk_.

He didn't want to live in his dad's shadow, but George Kirk had left one so large and black, somewhere along the way Jim decided not to live. So he drank, and fought, and was never going to leave the crappy town he grew up in, and he was going to tell everyone he met with a big, fat, fake smile he enjoyed it.

These thoughts darted and dove in his mind, tangling up into the ball in his chest that made it so damn hard to get out of bed every morning, until he was sure if he lay there for one more second he never get out again. With a sigh he rolled out of bed, sure he could find something dangerous enough to shut his mind up for long enough to breath. Stretching, he went to the bathroom.

He was half way across the living room before he remembered he was not alone in his flat. Normally, he was not ashamed of his body - he was young, fit, and enough girls had told him he was good looking to get a big head - but even Jim balked at flashing a pensioner. He froze, but the man kept his eyes closed. Which should have been the best case scenario. Except he was sitting crossed legged on the floor, like he was _meditating_. And Bones didn't strike him as the kind of guy to get in touch with his inner chi or whatever. For a minute Jim found himself in a ridiculous one sided staring match, not wanting to make a sound and draw attention to himself.

When Bones finally moved, a single eyebrow creeping up his face, Jim nearly jumped out his skin. He was beginning to think the old man had died sitting up he was so still.

"Is there something I can help you with?" He didn't sound the same as last night. Voice cold, unapproachable. But he had heard it before, he realised, when Bones had walked towards the bike. It was odd. Wrong on so many levels. To see Bones usually passionately animated face so emotionless.

"Uh, sorry, no. Didn't mean to disturb you." He stammered out.

"You did not." Bones - only this was clearly not Bones, and Jim had let a mad man stay in his flat - opened his eyes. He seemed unbothered by Jim's nakedness. Jim, however, was not, quickly pulling on a dirty pair of shorts from the floor, blushing as red as a tomato. "I have been waiting for you."

"Right, that doesn't sound creepy at all..."

The man ignored him, rising with more grace and swiftness than seemed possible with such a frail frame. "I need to get to Genesis."

Jim blinked, all thoughts of psychopaths and being murdered banished from his head at the odd request. "Sorry?"

"The Genesis Planet, in the Mutara Sector." The way the man spoke so calmly as he spouted out nonsense was infuriating. Jim squared up as best as he could while barely awake and in stained shorts.

"Who are you? Where's Bones?"

Something almost a smile tugged at the corner of the man's mouth as his eyebrow rose again. "Doctor McCoy is... resting. I am Spock."

"Great. So you have multiple personalities."

"Incorrect. The doctor is currently holding my katra. However with only one recorded incident of a human carrying one the effects are under documented. It appears the shock of us travelling here had caused some... unexpected side effects."

"You're not a human?" Jim had never really met an alien before. He'd seen the odd one or two here and there, but it was not like Bumfuck, Iowa was a popular tourist spot, and even the major cities around here were not exactly San Francisco. This was not how Jim imagined his own first contact to go.

"I am a Vulcan."

Jim knew for sure Vulcans had bodies. Green blood, pointed ears and stupid bowl cuts. He never heard of them possessing bodies of sixty year old doctors. However, he had barely paid attention to his sixth grade history class, maybe it was in a foot note?

"So your Katra is what?"

"In your human terms I believe it is best described as a soul or life essence. The Doctor is currently holding mine until we get to Vulcan."

"So, let's say for one crazy moment I believe you, then why are you trying to get to this Genesis planet thing?"

Spock did what Jim assumed was the human equivalent of a frown. "I believe, or rather sense, my body is there."

"OK, just to get this straight, you want to pop to this planet, get your body, and then go to Vulcan?"

Spock nodded. "That is correct."

"Right." He paused. "You know this sounds crazy?"

"It is, however, the truth."

"So, what's the plan after that?" Because why not keep talking to the crazy guy, he's already in your flat, and you like the other side of him.

"There is a ritual. However the odds of succeeding are one in thirteen hundred and forty seven."

Jim whistled. "Small odds."

"There have been worse."

"So, what do you need me for. You seem to have this whole thing sorted out."

"I need a ship. Our last attempt to acquire one did not beat the odds." That probably explained how he - _they_ \- ended up here. In the same way it explained anything. Because this was probably the ravings of mad man. But Jim had been told he was crazy enough times that he was going to help him out.

"When is Bones going to wake up?"

"Do you prefer him over me?" It took a minute for Jim to realise he was being teased. Before he could call him out (he was pretty sure that wasn't usual Vulcan behaviour) the man bent down, picking up a letter that Jim had tossed on the floor weeks ago. He stared at it, eyebrows raising further and further up his face, not even hiding his disbelief behind Vulcan stoicism.

"Is this a human joke?" He finally asked, voice soft. Jim frowned as the bill was thrust towards him.

"No. I'm, uh, late on the rent again."

"This damn well isn't possible." And that was definitely Bones' voice, even if he wasn't standing like him.

"People can forget to pay rent. It happens." A lot, in Jim's case, but he wasn't going to mention that.

"You are James Tiberius Kirk." Jim shivered. His middle name wasn't written in full on it, and he sure didn't tell Bones that - not that the two seemed to be sharing information that efficiently. 

"How did you know - " He began, but Spock talked over him.

"I need to investigate this further. It appears our trip may not be what I first thought. I must - " He cut off mid-sentence, the letter falling from his fingers. His whole body changed : back slouched, emotionless face turning downwards into a frown. Jim could see the exact moment Spock became Bones.

"You're going to catch flies." Bones grouched. "And why haven't you got a damn shirt on?"

"You were... you just..." He stuttered, unable to explain what he had just seen.

"Well, spit it out." Jim had no idea what to do. Did Bones even known about Spock? Surely he would have told him if he knew he had a Vulcan living in his head, who knew more about him than he should. But if he didn't know, should Jim tell him? The older man might think he was the crazy one, and the last thing he wanted was the guy running off and causing more trouble.

"Uh... I don't have any breakfast in." Not his smoothest lie. Bones clearly didn't think so either, face screwing up like he was going to whip Jim across the town and back.

"We'll have to go to a diner." He quickly said before Bones could start. "I know a good one. Best in town - well, only actually. But it's still good. I recommend - "

"Kid, you're rambling."

Jim coughed. "Right. Just let me get some clothes."

Jim turned on his heel and fled.

*

Bones didn't like his bike so they walked. Apparently that didn't mean any less complaining. Jim was beginning to think the man was being paid by the gripe. Of course Jim being the idiot that he was, mentioned that and got a whole new lecture on how, after living this long, it was his God given right.

The dinner, fortunately, was near empty, and they took a seat by the front window. Sal came to take their order. Jim liked her, young, pretty and refused to be swayed by any of his charm. In fact, most of the girls in his hometown had long since grown immune, his conquests now reduced to the tourists and the dumb. Even so, normally he did lay on a couple of his moves, but it just felt wrong to flirt under Bones' watchful eye.

"Bit old for you, isn't he?" Sal asked as she arrived, an evil grin on her face.

"Ha ha." Jim said drily as Bones raised an eyebrow at the exchange. "It's not like that."

She nodded in wide eyed insincere agreement. "No, it must be serious." She turned to the older man. "Jim never takes his conquests for breakfast the next morning."

Bones, the bastard, played along, fluttering his lashes. "I must be real special then."

"Look, Sal, can we actually order now?"

"Hey now, don't rush the girl. It's nice to talk to a pretty face for once."

" _I_ have a pretty face." Jim was aware, even as the words came out his mouth, how petulant he sounded.

"Hmmm." And now Jim was pouting as Sal cackled.

"Well, where have you been hiding this one? It takes weeks for someone to build a resistance to James Kirk."

"I come with a bullshit detector built in."

"My usual breakfast." Jim butted in, annoyed. "And coffee. Big and strong. Bones?"

He shared a glance with Sal, both sporting matching grins, and Jim makes a note to not introduce the man to anyone else he knew. "Coffee too."

Sal frowned. "Anything to eat? Jim's paying."

"Hey!" Jim complained, even though he was paying, as far as he was aware, Bones didn't even have any money. Now the good act will seem like he was forced into it.

"As kind as that is, I'm not hungry."

"Bones you have to eat! You're all skin and, uh, bones." The older man rolled his eyes at Jim's joke, but ordered a fruit salad.

"Like mah mama."

"Make that a large one." Jim added, half to be an asshole, and half because the man actually needed it. Nodding seriously, Sal wrote it down. He smirked at Bones' face - not so fun to be ganged up on, is it? As the waitress left, Jim slouched back onto the bench.

"So, I was thinking we could go to the library after this. Find your ID, see if you have a home to go back to." Once Bones agreed, Jim carried on, more slow and careful, like he was walking through a field of landmines. "Have you ever heard of the Mutara sector?"

"Should I?"

Jim shrugged. Try to be casual. "Maybe. What about Genesis?"

"Kid, you're making no sense."

"How about a guy called Spock?"

That got a reaction, Bones going from confused to pissed in seconds. "What's that green blooded walking computer done this time?"

Jim nearly jumped from his seat and danced, but settled on a wide grin. "So you do know him?"

It was a short lived victory, the confused look falling back onto his face. "No."

"But you just - "

Sal, with her terrible timing, chose that moment to swoop down with their food. Jim, upon seeing it, dug in with gusto. By the time he was finished Bones had only eaten a couple of cubes, stabbing the other fruit half heartedly with his fork. Jim picked up his coffee, now cool enough to sip.

"So, you have no idea where you're going?"

"I thought I made that pretty damn clear." He stabbed a strawberry cube, lifting it to his eye and inspecting it carefully before placing it back into the bowl. Jim bit his tongue to stop a nag.

"So it could be this Genesis planet?"

"It could be Timbuktu for all I know." He gave up on his food entirely, turning to his coffee and staring at it moodily. "What's all this about a Genesis planet anyway?"

"I have no idea. You told me about it." Bones opened his mouth, but Jim cut him off before he could reply. "Well, not you _you_ , but Spock."

Now Bones was looking at him like he was the crazy one. "Look, kid, you lost me."

"Yeah, me too." He pointed at McCoy's food. "You going to eat that?"

"Go ahead."

*

In the 23rd century, libraries didn't bring forward images of stacked paper bound books and quiet contemplation. Nobody used to paper anymore, texts were on data chips and read on screens. And libraries were community hubs : support groups, childcare and lessons. Jim, as a child, had spent much of his time hauled up in a chair at the side of the room, borrowed PADD in hand, absorbing data chip after data chip of newspapers, engineering manuals and the finest literature ever penned. He may not have turned up to school, but he was hardly stupid.

Stepping to the library felt like stepping into his second home. He chatted with the librarian, on the older side of middle aged, though the exact number would forever remain a mystery, and Jim was not ashamed to admit she had been his first crush. Even on his worst days she had greeted him with a smile and would always help him out, even as her colleagues would frown and suggest kicking him out.

As they chatted about her family - her oldest, only two years younger than Jim and heading off to university - Bones had wandered off, picking up random data chips and scanning them into his PADD . He only seemed to read the first line or two before moving on. When the man moved from sight, Jim cut off the conversation short apologetically. He did not want to spend the whole day hunting for an insane man in the stacks.

Bones, for all his frailty, was surprisingly fast, but Jim quickly tracked him in the history section, a data chip of Earth's ice age in his hand. "There isn't a doorway around here, is there?" He grumbled good naturally, his mouth in a half smile.

"Uh... no?"

"Thank the Lord for that." He elaborated no further and Jim wondered what strange memory the man probably couldn't even remember that was from.

"Let's go to the computers." The younger man suggested.

Apparently now Jim was beside him all the hurry had disappeared. As they wandered through the medical aisle, Bones seemed insistent on picking up damn near every chip.

"Don't keep this place very updated." He grumbled. Jim, offended at the sight against his favourite place, jumped to defend its honour.

"It may not be as a big city one is, but it's got everything you need."

Bones snorted. "Yeah, if you live in the dark ages. I can't see a single journal on a break through since the mid 50s. Hell, it ain't even got nothing to do with advance tissue grafting on the brain."

"Well, duh." He muttered. Far as he knew no libraries had any documents from the _future_. Something to ask Spock about, if he wanted a straight answer.

The rest of the walk involved Bones grumbling and the underfunding of libraries in some towns, and how anyone was expected to get anywhere if they couldn't study up to date research. While Jim agreed whole heartedly, he found it damn near impossible to stop the man once he started and was more than relieved when they arrived at the computers. Bones sagged on the chair, and Jim leaned over his shoulder.

"OK, so you just need to - "

"I _know_ how to use a computer." He scowled, swatting him away. "I'm not a damn invalid."

Jim threw up his hands. "Jeeze. Well, I've got to check something out."

"I'll be fine." The man insisted, doing scurrying motions with his hands. "Now go. I can hardly think with you breathing down my neck."

Jim left, unable to stop his grin as he heard Bones grumbled at the computer with curses he suspected was Vulcan in origin. He could get to the star chart section with his eyes closed. It took a while to find the charts n the Mutara sector. Admiral Archer had surveyed it himself, but all it held was a quick note on how it held nothing of importance. Jim frowned as he tried to puzzle out why a strange Vulcan and an even stranger doctor would be there. His confusion only increased as he found there were no planets, let alone class M-planets even close. The only thing he could see in the sector was a nebula.

But nebulas were famous for affecting scanners. Maybe this Genesis planet was hidden inside. A hundred years ago scanners on Earth vessels had been extremely basic. Feeling like a hypocrite, Jim cursed the library for not having completely up to date records. But even San Fran might be missing even the newest finds.

Quickly he opened up a new page on his PADD, scanning through the newest astrology discoveries, Starfleet, Civilian, and on a whim, the Vulcan Science Academy. Not even a ship in the sector. So either this Spock guy was as crazy as Bones (which Jim really shouldn't rule out as quickly as he was willing to) or this was classified stuff.

Neither had given him a hint that they were Starfleet, but aliens and an unknown planet it was unlikely they were not involved. It was ironic that that he'd turned away from Starfleet only to find himself slap-bang in the middle of one of their operations. But if this man was a part of the biggest operation on Earth, why was nobody looking for him?

 _Shit_.

Jim, ignoring every rule about not running in the building, turned on his heel and sprinted back to Bones. This place was going to be swarming. Hell, Bones might have already fled. And it was all going to be Jim's own damn fault.

It was rather anti-climatic to find Bones only staring at the computer screen blankly. He didn't even look up as Jim skidded to a halt, breathing heavily next to him. For a moment he was at a loss of what to do. The man looked like he had seen as a ghost.

He put a hand on the older man shoulders, who jumped but his eyes never left the screen. Didn't even grumble and that's when Jim knew this was going to be worse than Starfleet taking them all out.

"What's wrong?" He spoke softly.

Slowly the man turned the screen to him. Jim noticed his hands did not shake. A profile was on the computer for Doctor Leonard H. McCoy. Who was twenty-six years old. And didn't look a thing like him.

"That's not you." Jim pointed out, feeling stupid as he said it. Of course it wasn't him.

"Pretty damn obvious that." No heat was behind Bones' snap. It was like everything had been drained out of him.

"Did you rescan your print?"

"Twice. Same damn profile." Jim leaned over him, scanning through the information pulled up. Went to Old Miss, documents on hospitals he worked at, an inoculation project he helped Starfleet with. A daughter. Recently divorced.

"Does any of it, I don't know, seem familiar?"

Bones shrugged. "Some of it."

Jim sagged against the table. "Nothing makes sense. I can't find anything about this Genesis planet either. It's like - "

"I don't exist." Jim shook his head.

"No, that's not it. There's something else, something I'm missing."

Slowly, Bones stood, hunched like the weight of the world was on his shoulders and it was crushing him. "Well, as you work that out, I need a damn drink."

*

The bar was the same one Jim had fought the cadets in. Which was hardly a surprise. There was only two of them in town. There had been hope when the construction of the first constitution class star ship would breath fresh life into a town only on the map because of one dead hero, but that hope died fast. Most of the work was done by robots, the high skilled workers not venturing far from the site and going home on the weekends. The only thing it brought was the odd tourist and the annual cadet visit to the yard.

Nobody would care he punched a Fleeter. Walk around like they owned the place, barely hiding their distaste for the locals. Every year a fight breaks out, just this time Jim got the pleasure of being in it. Course, the owner was pissed, but the guy actually behind the bar? He offered the first round on him.

Bones, with only half his marbles, took one sip of the strange fancy water he ordered and spat it back out, glaring at Jim. "You tryin' to poison me, boy?"

It was the first thing he had said to Jim directly since he left the library. "It's what you asked for."

"Like hell." Bones grouched.

"But I still got you a spare beer, just in case." He slid it over, Bones taking a sip.

"Ain't much better." He kept drinking it, though. He finished it in half the time Jim did, somehow managing to convince Jim to get the next round. (Jim was certain by now Bones didn't actually have any money.) Bourbon this time.

"I was going to join Starfleet." He couldn't quite say why he spoke. The words seemed to roll off his tongue without meaning to. "That's what I was going to do when I met you."

Bones looked up from his drink. "It's a good job. It'll suit you."

Jim bristled. Bones had made no comments about knowing who he was, but, of course, it didn't mean he didn't. Of course the doctor had been judging him against his father. "Do I disappoint?" He hissed, bitterly.

Bones, for a man who spoke mostly in scorn, seemed surprised to have any directed back at him. "I just mean you don't seem like a man to back down from a challenge, and God knows they have more than enough of those up there. They need men like you - they make good captains."

Jim snorted, took a glug. "I don't think they'll suffer without me."

"Maybe not." His piercing blue eyes caught Jim's. "You will though."

Suddenly the room felt too hot, his skin too tight. All he wanted to do was flee from the gaze. But that was all he does : run. He claims he's not a coward, because of the fights, because he drives to fast, because he could talk himself out of any situation. But he was scared. Of responsibility. Of being too close to people. Of living his life.

He was born to lead, it thrummed in his heart and ran through his blood, but he was terrified of leading his followers off a cliff.

And Bones, somehow, knew that.

He leaned back, took another drink. There was something about Bones that made him want to spill his sorrows. _Trust_ , he thought with a surprise jolt. He trusted him, even though he barely knew him, even though Jim didn't trust anyone. Not because he was a doctor, Jim could barely stand them, see right through there in control, I'm only here to help aura. Except Bones' wasn't bullshit. For some reason the man actually cared.

Maybe this was what having a father was like. An older, wiser mentor who could listen and guide. Who didn't go and die before he had even breathed his first breath. If his dad had stuck around he wouldn't be like this. Would he be a great person? Would he be the person people claimed they could see inside of him?

"I'm a Kirk." He explained, just as the silence between them felt like it might stretch forever. "And I can't live my life in a shadow. It - " his eyes flickered up, but Bones wasn't listening. In fact, Bones wasn't even present anymore. His back was straight, hands joined in front of him, looking far too lofty for this small run-down bar at noon.

"What I have found, Jim, is you are the one who makes the shadows."

Jim blinked. "You say that like you know me."

"That is because I do - or at least a version of you."

"There is only one of me."

"On the contrary, with an infinite universes, there are an infinite versions of us."

Jim's head snapped up, everything falling into place. "You are from a parallel universe."

Spock nodded. "Correct. And nearly thirty years in the future."

Jim snorted. "Is this even possible?"

"Accounts have been recorded. Doctor McCoy himself has travelled through to other universes before now."

Eyes wide, Jim grinned. "Wow. So, how do you get back?" Jim felt a hint of sadness at that. He was going to miss him - _them_ \- when they were gone.

"We were brought here by an unknown assailant. Us travelling back here I suspect it was an accident on his part. It seems logical to assume our assailant will find us to finish the job."

Jim didn't like the sound of that. "The job?"

"To kill us."

*

Spock, inside the older man's head, seemed to be sorting out Bones' memories. They trickled through, more and more as the days passed. Jim found himself getting more and more used to the other men being around, his life easily slotting in to accommodate them. Even if Bones' endless complaints about his back made Jim cave and let him take his bed. Jim had slept in worse places than his own couch, though he quickly began to understand the grumbling.

When Spock was in charge, he mostly researched, and Jim happily helped him hack into any records he needed, or pick up any strange pieces of equipment. This universe, it turned out, was much more technologically advanced than his own, though the warp engineering was at about the same level. Bones, however, preferred to see the town, completely unbothered about the death threat that hung over them.

And Jim with them there was happier. It was like he had finally found purpose. They both looked at him for help, to be with to relax, hell, Bones even cooked and cleaned for him (it turned out what made the food so damn good was whiskey). They were his _friends_ and that was something Jim hadn't had in a long time. He didn't think about how they were going to be gone soon, that this weird arrangement wasn't going to last.

They had a life back home. Or, in Spock's case, a death he needed to reverse. Bones had a kid back home, (it took a while for Jim to work out that this 'kid' was older than him), Spock had parents. And they had their own Jim. Older, wiser, _better_.

He was a poor substitute. But that was OK, he was used to being that.

It took longer than he thought to Bones to work out who he really was.

"You're _Jim_?" He cried, coming into the kitchen (and Jim wondered if he had found the same letter Spock had, he never did pick it up from the floor).

"I thought your memory was getting better, not worse." Jim was cooking an omelette, and knew even as he spoke that Bones wasn't going to drop it. 

"James T. Kirk." Bones spoke with something edging way to close to awe to be comfortable. Then he frowned and shook his head. "That Vulcan must have screwed up my mind more than I thought."

"I assure you I'm real." No point in putting it off.

"Then what in God's name are you doing here?"

Jim looked down at his omelette, like in shock. "Cooking?"

"Ha ha." Bones frowned. "You know that ain't what I mean."

He sighed. "Yes, but I don't want another lecture about how I should be achieving greatness."

"Spock already talked to you? Should have left it to me, pointy eared bastard isn't good at the emotional talk." Jim was pretty sure Bones was the only one in the universe who could make a racist slur sound affectionate.

"Him and everyone else."

"Don't tell me I've got more than one Vulcan rattling around in my head."

"No - "

"Praise the Lord for that."

" - I mean, I am the son of George Kirk."

"Huh?" Jim looked at his puzzled face.

"The Hero of the Federation? The Kelvin?" Jim didn't even try to hide the bitterness in his voice. Bones still looked blank. "Are you doing any research in this timeline? Hell, there is even a statue of the man in town!"

The older man shrugged. "That's more Spock's style."

"Then what have you been reading on the PADD then?" While his nose was not as deeply buried in the thing as Spock's, it was far from unusual to see the doctor lost in it.

"Medical journals. This universe has a lot more on the differences of Vulcans and Romulans. And the Klingons? Don't even have the same organ alignment."

Jim sighed. "So you're letting Spock figure this all out?"

"I'm a doctor, not a quantum theorist."

Jim looked back to the pan, flipping it over. Behind him Bones moved to the chair. Clearly he was not going anywhere. It was not a struggle to start speaking, the doctor seemed to just draw words out of him. Slowly, he turned. "George Kirk saved the Federation."

One of Bones' eyebrows rose. "In my world, it's you who does that."

"And my dad?"

"Not even a footnote." It was all Jim wanted, and yet he felt saddened by the words. The thought of his father being nothing, it wasn't right. His dad was nothing, forgotten. Nothing to live up to, but nothing to look up to either.

"So, I must have had a pretty good life?" Of course, a cushy earth experience of a 'Fleet brat, nothing holding him back, the whole damn universe being offered on a platter. An easy life, the pathways for greatness just opening up for him.

Bones' snorted. "As if I could get that lucky : Kirk was a magnet for trouble, and that started long before I knew him."

Jim shrugged, trying not to feel stung. "That's the life of a 'Fleet officer."

"I know what you want."

"You do?" Jim tried to say it with light scepticism but he knew the worry in his voice was obvious. One doesn't become CMO on a flagship without being able to read people, and Jim might as well be broadcasting on the whole comm. system.

"You want an excuse, and you're hoping I will give you one. You want me to tell you my Jim had it easy, and you're going to be hurt when I tell you he didn't and take it out on me. Do you want to know what the biggest difference between him and you? It's not that he's an admiral, or the most famous captain in the 'Fleet since it began, or even that your daddy died when you were a boy and his didn't. It's because when life got hard, my Jim didn't give up. He doesn't make excuses for his actions, and he sure as hell doesn't let them keep him down. He learns from them, lets them make him into a better man, a great man. He ain't perfect, but that ain't going to stop him. The crap the universe throws at you doesn't make you who you are, it's how you use those experiences that does."

Silence followed his speech as Jim absorbed the words. It made him feel guilty, like a knife in his side, that he had been using his father's death as an excuse. A reason to stay down. His father died so he could live, and he repaid him by doing the exact opposite. Because it was easier down here than it was prove everyone they were right. And maybe, just maybe, when people spoke of the great man inside of him they weren't seeing George Kirk at all, but the man he could be if he stopped hiding behind him.

He thought about Starfleet, the _Enterprise_ , and Pike. He thought about how much he wanted to captain her but he was scared. Of the responsibility, of the work, of trying his hardest and failing anyway. Expectations were so high, and he was scared if he jumped he wouldn't reach, so he kept his feet firmly on the ground and told himself it wasn't his fault.

He could waste away in this town and less than a handful of people would care. Five minutes ago he would have lied and said he wasn't one of them.

"Hey, kid." Jim blinked, pulled out of his thoughts by a glaring Bones, seemingly unaware he had just rocked his roommate to his roots. "You're burning our damn breakfast."

It took a second for his brain to catch up, before he spun around and pulled the blackened and smoking pan off the hob. He wasn't going to be able to salvage this one. When he turned back around, Bones was standing back up, moving towards the door. He hesitated at the door, before turning back around.

"I just want you to be happy. And from what I've seen, it's not here."

*

It happened in the same bar Jim met Pike. Where else could it? And this time Jim knew the staff wasn't going to be as forgiving. Beating up Starfleet cadets was one thing, a gun wielding Romulan was another. Jim, for once in his life, had not wanted to go out. The longer he spent with the two men, the more he didn't want them to leave, and taking unnecessary risks was no longer sitting well with him as they once did. But Bones had insisted.

A hush fell over the bar as the Romulan came in. Smooth forehead, no tribal tats, if he didn't have murder in his eyes he could have passed as Vulcan, which was no doubt how he managed to blend in on Earth for so long. He cocked the phaser shotgun, the same kind the famers wielded around here, the same kind his step-dad had kept locked up in the basement to keep away from tiny hands. The alien marched across the room in five long even strides and pointed the gun at Bones' head.

Bones just knocked back his whiskey, and looked the manic straight in his eye. "So, are you going to kill me or what?"

It was so unbelievably suicidal (and Jim would have once called that bad-ass, and maybe he was growing up) that for a second Jim could only stare. He didn't think Bones had it in him. Of course, he was 'Fleet, they faced death and danger every week, but somehow the image of the caring doctor didn't fit with the one he was seeing in front of him.

"I want to kill Spock, Doctor McCoy." The romulan had a strange accent, and it took Jim a second to realise it was because he was not using a universal translator.

"Sorry." Bones replied, drily. "I can't control the bastard when we're not sharing a head."

"A shame. I would have liked to see the fear in his eyes when I killed him."

Bones snorted. "You must not have known him very well then."

The romulan's finger pressed on the trigger, a whirl of energy build up began, and Jim, his mind still two steps behind, reached out and knocked it upwards. The bolt shot upwards, blasting a whole into the ceiling, raining plaster and dust down onto them.

Some where someone screamed.

Bones - no, Spock, the doctor couldn't move that gracefully - reached forward, hand going to the assailants shoulder. Vulcan nerve pinch. Nothing happened. "Damn, should have remembered that."

The romulan's eyebrow rose in amusements. "Looks like we're going to have to do this the old fashioned way." He moved the gun back into position.

Jim grabbed it. Spock knocked the romulan's head into the table. If he still had vulcan strength it probably would of cracked in two, instead the alien just looked annoyed. Jim used the distraction to wrestle free the gun, springing out of the booth. He hit the blunt end into his spine, causing the romulan to grunt. Spock stood also, punching him in the face, once, twice, three times. Jim lifted the gun once again and cracked him on the back of the head, and the man swayed for a second before falling on the floor.

Spock shook out his hand like it was in pain, but his face stayed blank and collected. "I suggest we move the body somewhere more private."

"Where to? We can't drag an unconscious man through town."

"It will be illogical to leave him here."

Jim looked around. The whole bar was staring out them. They were going to call the police soon, Spock was right, they had to leave. With a sheepish grin, he looked at the bar tender. "Uh... sorry?" He tried. Everyone just kept staring. He turned to Spock. "There's an alley out back."

Together they dragged him out. Jim felt lighter without all those eyes on him, his brain working faster. "The police will be on their way."

"I will be gone by then." Spock removed a device from the romulan's wrist, studying it carefully.

" _I_ won't be." Jim pointed out. Spock raised an eyebrow.

"The Jim I know is very good at talking himself out of trouble."

Jim snorted. "Yes officer, you see a time travelling romulan tried to kill my time travelling katra carrying friend, oh and they both happen to be from a parallel universe so don't bother looking them up. Yeah, _that_ will go down well."

"I suggest you omit certain details from the report."

Jim grinned. "Are you telling me to lie?"

"I believe that is what I just said."

Jim shook his head, the smile stubbornly staying. "A vulcan telling me to lie! I'm sure I can come up with something."

"Then this is goodbye." Jim blinked.

"What?" No way, this was too soon, too sudden. He still had things to show them, to talk about. Him and Bones were going to visit the farm house he grew up in. They were going to introduce Spock to his mom to prove he could make respectable friends.

"I believe I can work this device with an acceptable level of accuracy."

He bit back the whine of _can't you stay_. He knew this was coming. He shouldn't have got attached. This always happened when he got attached. "Oh, OK."

"Goodbye James T. Kirk."

"Goodbye." It felt awkward. Should he hug him? He didn't think vulcans did hugs. Spock clearly thought they were done, went back to fiddling with the device. "Wait, can I talk to Bones?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I cannot control the doctor even when I am not in his head."

Jim snorted. "Right. Well tell him goodbye for me. And - yeah, he'll know."

Spock nodded. "Indeed. However I doubt this will be the last time you will see us."

Jim felt hope bloom in his chest that he didn't even try to squash. "You'll come back?"

"Negative. I am talking about the Spock and McCoy of this time."

Of course. They had already looked up the Bones in this world, and more of the information was right than wrong. Maybe that Bones would join Starfleet. And Spock's double was no doubt already in it. Wasn't he serving under Pike? This may be easier than he first thought it would. And if they were even a bit like this Spock/Bones combo, they would quickly become fast friends. But he wouldn't meet them in Riverside, that was a given.

Spock bent down, picking up the romulan. The dead weight seemed to crush his slight figure, yet they both stayed up. Awkwardly he lifted up his hand, fingers spread down the middle in half. A vulcan salute, Jim had read about it in the first contact text books. "Live long and prosper, Jim." Before he could work out how to copy the gesture back to him, Spock pressed a series of buttons on the device and both figures disappeared in a bright flash of light, just like the one they had arrived in.

For a second Jim just stood there, blinking at the spot they had just been, blinking back at the burning in his eyes. Then the sound of sirens penetrated the air and he quickly left the alley.

He made sure he didn't look back.

*

It had been painfully easy to hack into Starfleet's records and find Pike's number. He didn't hesitate in pressing the call button. He couldn't stay here. Now he just had to convince a 'Fleet Captain to give him a second chance.

The sight of Pike's unimpressed face did not raise his hopes. "Hi." He said, lamely.

"I did not expect to see you again."

Jim shrugged. "Neither did I. Is the offer still open?"

Pike gazed at him so hard Jim of a week ago would of squirmed. But he knew what he wanted now, and this time he was not afraid to get it. If it was this cool determination and confidence or something else the captain saw in him, he nodded. "You'll have a lot of catching up to do. This won't be easy."

"I'm prepared."

"Then I expect to see you in my office, oh eight hundred hours sharp on Monday."

Jim nodded. "I'll be there."

"This is your last chance, Jim. One mess up at the Academy and you'll be out faster than you can apologise, understand?"

"Yes sir." Those words fell out easier than he thought they would. Pike went to close the call, then stopped.

"What changed your mind, cadet?"

Jim thought for a second, unsure how to explain the whirlwind that had crashed through his life before disappearing without a trace. "Some new friends."

Pike nodded, satisfied, before shutting off the link. Jim stood up, looking around his dingy flat.

 _Spock and Bones, here I come_. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.


End file.
